Cable Management & Catastrophes

Maya's first real job: setting up AV equipment for the school talent show. The gig paid twenty bucks and zero social capital. Perfect.

"Dude, you're gonna make the whole auditorium crash," joked Tyler, a senior who somehow made even a wrinkled flannel look intentional. He'd dubbed himself "the fox" last year after pulling off three senior pranks without getting caught. Maya suspected he just had good timing.

"I got it," Maya muttered, her face burning. She was wrestling with a tangled mess of cables behind the stage while her classmates practiced dance routines. The cables snake-charmed around her ankles like they had a personal vendetta.

Her phone buzzed. Mom again: *Did you eat the spinach I packed?*

Maya rolled her eyes so hard it actually hurt. Her mom had gone full health-nut since Maya's dad left, acting like leafy greens could somehow fix abandonment issues. *Yes,* Maya typed back, deleting the truth: she'd traded it for chocolate milk.

"Need help?" Tyler appeared beside her, dropping into a crouch. For a senior talking to a sophomore, he was being weirdly... nice?

"I'm good," she said, but her voice cracked. Perfect.

"Here." He reached for a cable. His hand brushed hers—warm, with calloused fingertips. "My cousin does sound for bands. He showed me this trick."

Together they untangled the mess. Tyler kept up a steady stream of stories about his cousin's tour disasters, making Maya laugh despite herself. When their shoulders pressed together as they both reached for the same connector, she stopped breathing for a solid three seconds.

What was happening? Tyler Evans, actual popular person, was crouching backstage with her, Maya Chen, AV Squad resident nobody, while her cat probably had more game than she did.

"Done," he said, sitting back on his heels. "Not bad, Chen."

The compliment hit different than she expected. Not sarcastic. Just... genuine.

Maya's phone lit up again. Her cat, Buttercup, had sent a "photo" (her mom had probably taken it): the orange tabby sleeping on Maya's bed, looking like a fluffy judgment.

"Your cat?" Tyler grinned, seeing the screen. "Cute. What's its name?"

"Buttercup," she admitted. "My little sister named her."

"I had a cat named Pickle," Tyler said. "Little dude lived to be eighteen."

"Seriously?"

"Scout's honor." He stood up, extending a hand to pull her up too. "You're running the show Friday, right? I'm doing this acoustic thing... you should come watch."

Maya's stomach did this full gymnastics routine. "I'll be working."

"After. I'll save you a spot."

Friday came. Maya nailed the setup, survived two technical emergencies, and watched Tyler perform from the lighting booth. His voice was all rough around the edges, the kind that made girls in the front row literally swoon.

After, he found her by the snack table. "So?"

"You didn't suck," she said, casual as she could manage while her heart was basically sprinting a marathon.

"High praise from the AV queen." He leaned against the table. "Hey, some of us are hitting the diner later. You in?"

Maya thought about her mom waiting at home with probably more spinach. About her empty weekend plans. About how exactly zero cool people had ever invited her anywhere.

"Yeah," she said. "I'm in."

And just like that, Maya wasn't just the girl who managed cables anymore. She was the girl who said yes to things—terrible spinach-packed lunches, disastrous crushes, and occasionally, exactly what she wanted.